6 Moons Doesn't Mean A Thing
by Brighteyes of Thunderclan
Summary: Fernkit and Blazekit play pranks on warriors, run wild around camp, and play loud, obnoxious games everyday. Mallowstep hopes that at 6 moons, they'll somehow become more capable and mature. But as we all know, 6 moons doesn't mean a thing. Kits will be kits. Darkclan Challenge!


"Mama, mama! Stop it!" Fernkit squealed, wriggling under her mother's tongue.

"Now, darling, stay still! I need to get behind your ears!" Mallowstep purrs, pulling her little daughter closer.

"Hahahaha! Sucka!" Blazekit laughs from the other side of the nest. "You have to get _cleaned_!" Fernkit sticks her tongue out at the small ginger tom, and continues to struggle with her mother.

"Mallowstep! I'm clean! Can we go now?" The dappled gold she-kit whines.

"Yeah, momma! We've got big plans for today!" Blazekit chirps.

"Oh, yes?" Mallowstep asks, amused, as she gives Fernkit a final swipe with her pink tongue.

"Yep! We're gonna make dirt in Bluesmoke's nest!" Blazekit mews excitedly.

"Is this true, Fernkit?" Mallowstep looks down at her daughter, both amusement and disapproval in her amber gaze.

"Uh-huh! I can't wait to see the look on his face! Papa always loves a good joke, though, so he won't punish us!" The dappled gray-blue kit purrs. Her mother just shakes her soft, pale ginger head and sighs.

"Well, kits will be kits. I just can't wait until you're apprentices. Then you'll be far more mature. Only one more moon…" The queen meows, stepping out of the nursery. The two bouncing kittens pause for a moment, contemplating her words.

"Do ya think it's true?" Blazekit asks his sister.

"Hmmm…that somehow we'll suddenly become smarter and more capable at six moons?" Fernkit replies, cocking her head.

"Yeah. Only one way to find out…" Blazekit mews, amber eyes glowing.

"To the elder's den!" Fernkit cries, leaping for the nursery entrance. Blazekit pounces on her, bowling her over in his attempt to beat his sister to the bramble-framed exit. The two rolled around, play-fighting and squealing loudly, before remembering their original purpose. With renewed excitement, the kits dart out and make a beeline for the wall of twigs where the elder's dens are.

"Volepelt? Birchwhisker? Could we have a story? Pleeeasee?" Fernkit calls, peering into the dark, cave-like den.

"Huh? Wha-what? Oh, it's you two." Volepelt grouched.

"Don't mind him, he's as cranky as an old badger when you wake him up. Of course you can have a story!" Birchwhisker purrs, shaking scraps of moss out of her once-beautiful white and brown tabby fur. "What would you like to hear?"

"We want to know if it's really true that when we turn six moons we'll be more mature, and, like, smarter and stuff." Blazekit explains, ginger pelt ruffling with exicement. Volepelt snorts.

"That there's a load of foxdung. Even some senior warriors haven't matured! It doesn't just happen at six moons. That's pure foxdung." Fernkit gasped at the curse word.

"It's alright, dear. But what Volepelt's saying is true. Maturity, capability, and intelligence don't just suddenly hit you. It takes time…I have a story perfect for this. It all started long ago…" Birchwhisker murmurs. Blazekit and Fernkit snuggle up together on a patch of fluffy moss while Birchwhisker settles herself down next to Volepelt. "Once upon a time, in old Thunderclan, there was a kit by the name of Shadekit. He was always getting into trouble! The young gray and brown tom would forever be pestering his clanmates and playing rowdy games. One day, his antics took him outside of camp. He convinced his littermates to sneak out of camp and go hunting. 'It will be fun!' He said. 'We'll catch something, and be apprentices before you know it!' His sister, a small silver and white tabby named Lightkit, argued against his little games, but in the end she agreed it wouldn't hurt to go out for a few moments. The three siblings, Shadekit, Lightkit, and Pouncekit, a feisty little black and white tom, hurried out through the gap in the brambles at the back of the nursery. Lightkit and Pouncekit had followed Shadekit through the forest for what seemed like forever. They were tired and hungry, and they hadn't caught a single thing. Yet Shadekit kept urging them on. Finally, Lightkit smelled something funny…it was cats, but not the foresty-squirrely scent of Thunderclan. This smell was sour, like dead things and rotted wood. They had crossed the Shadowclan border. Pouncekit and Shadekit didn't seem to notice the difference, and Lightkit felt as if she had no choice but to follow her brothers, and hopefully try to keep them out of any more trouble. All of a sudden, a gaggle of dark furry shapes had the three surrounded. Shadowclan cats. The warriors threatened the kits, and finally one of the nicer ones brought the little scamps back to Thunderclan with a warning. The kits already had the claw marks on their pelts to remember one particular apprentice by, though. Unfortunately, this event didn't discourage Shadekit from his antics. He proudly displayed his Shadowclan-inflicted scars like trophies. Finally, the three were made apprentices. Every cat believed, well, more like _hoped_ that Shadepaw had wizened now that he had reached 6 moons old. They, of course, were wrong. Shadepaw went out hunting on his own, and yet again the young tom crossed the Shadowclan border. He didn't return home that night. You see, young ones, kits don't mature when they reach 6 moons. If they did, Shadepaw would be here to tell you this story himself." Fernkit and Blazekit stare up at Birchwhisker, eyes wide and scared.

"We'll be good! I promise!" Fernkit squeaks.

"Yeah! I-I don't wanna be like * gulp * Shadepaw! We'll stay out of trouble!" Blazekit mews. The two kittens scamper off, and play a quiet game of mossball.

"Hey, Blazekit!" Fernkit mews, tapping her brother gently. "It's past sunhigh. Time for our nap." Blazekit nods and follows his sister into the nursery obediently. They snuggle up together in the mossy, emerald nest lined with feathers. Mallowstep enters the nursery moments later.

"Fernkit? Blazekit? Are you in her-Oh! There you are! What in Starclan's name are you doing in here?" The kits' mother wonders, large amber eyes curious.

"We're taking our nap, mother." Fernkit says, cuddling closer to Blazekit and closing her eyes.

"Yes." Blazekit yawns. Mallowstep just looks at her children, disbelief clear upon her face.

"You've _never_ taken a nap willingly, or even on time! What's gotten into you two? Are you ill?" The pale ginger queen leans forward and daintily sniffs each kit. She finds nothing wrong. Leaving the two cherubs to sleep, Mallowstep pads out of the nursery and towards the elder's den, where she had seen her young'uns bound off to earlier this morning.

"Birchwhisker? Volepelt? Are you still around?" She asks, poking her head around the tightly woven twig walls.

"Eh. Of course we're still around. Not like we could go anywhere else." Volepelt's grumble sounds from the nest furthest from the entrance.

"Oh, hello, dear! What brings you to see us?" Birchwhisker's sweet, friendly meow rings out, the elderly she-cat hobbling towards the young queen.

"Well, it's just that Fernkit and Blazekit have been terribly well behaved for the entire afternoon! They've played mossball quietly, they haven't pranked any of the warriors, and they put themselves down for a nap! On time! What in Starclan's name did you tell them?" Mallowstep asks, her meow quick and worried.

"Oh, just an old story, darling. One of a young apprentice who never behaved and never learned his lesson. He paid a high price for his insolence in the end. I had a feeling they would change their minds about their antics. Thank Starclan the story wasn't true!" Birchwhisker chuckles. "If Shadepaw was real, I'd never had told the kits such a sad tale. But to get them to behave, I had to. It's not like they'll be suddenly wiser at six moons. Perish the thought! I merely decided you needed a break from the usual rough and tumble." Mallowstep tilts her head, considering Birchwhisker's words.

"That's all well and good, my friend." She mews easily. "But they had me quite frightened! I guess all they know is games, and as _we_ all know, kits will be kits." Mallowstep continues. "I appreciate all you've done to help me." The queen's polite look softens as she thinks of her kits, and how they play rambunctiously, talk loudly, run quickly in zigzags through camp, and even how they plot silly little tricks to play on the older warriors and apprentices. Those were her kits. No matter how much trouble they had been at times, they were _hers_, as immature and rowdy as can be. She didn't want them to become wise and capable beyond their years. They have entire lifetimes for that. "I really am grateful that you tried to help, but please-" She gazes imploringly at the elder, "bring my little devils back."


End file.
